Till My Dying Day
by Impure Paradise
Summary: She knew that if he had the chance, he would rip her beating heart right from her chest. Just so that he could have it all for himself. (Butch/Bubbles. Dark Fic. Drabble.)


**Till My Dying Day**

**~ So, this is probably an example of why I shouldn't be drinking so much coffee at one in the morning. I get crazy ideas. But I've been wanting to do a dark one-shot/drabble for so damn long so I decided to do one involving my favourite crack pairing of all time. Never quite written anything like this before so I hope that it's decent. Fingers crossed. It's more of a rambling drabble than a one shot, everything about it is random but oh well, I hope you like it anyway. Thanks for reading! ~**

**Summary - She knew that if he had the chance, he would rip her beating heart right from her chest. Just so that he could have it all for himself. (Butch/Bubbles. Dark Fic. Drabble.)**

**Disclaimer - I don't own the characters or anything involved with the fandom whatsoever.**

**Warning(s) - Some graphicness and a little swearing. Nothing too terrible. I've rated T because I'm totally paranoid.**

* * *

_The rules are simple; You play the game. You lose. I win._

Simple.

**xoxo**

Even in the dark of night, when her head hits the pillow, she can still hear his fiendish voice ringing in her subconscious, whispering sweet nothings, telling her beautiful lies about how he will one day own her heart - even if it rests in the palm of his bloodied hand.

And after a while she starts to believe the harsh words spitting from his cold lips like a melody, a symphony of what is yet to happen - what _will_ happen - because she has no other choice. She can't do anything to keep what is hers. Her heart is the only thing she has left - no family, no joy, no light, no sanity - and she knows that she should guard it with everything inside of her, but she's not _strong_ enough.

She was playing _his_ game.

Her life _was_ the game. And she couldn't _beat_ him. She couldn't beat him at his own game.

**xoxo**

She held her breath as she took light, careful steps towards her broken bedroom door; the once white paint cracked from neglect and stained with something _red_.

Her heart was pitter pattering inside of her throat; a constant reminder that she still owned it and it was safe where he could not get his evil, callous hands on it. With each step she took, she could hear her volatile heartbeat in her ears, clearer and clearer.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

She counted each step because she wasn't sure how far away she was from freedom.

(One foot in front of the other)

(_Slowly_)

She swallowed down the panic in her throat - because she could _feel_ him - sense him - he was near - too near - too disconcertingly close for comfort - and her skin was fervid, burning with imminent annihilation (because he was going to _tear her apart_ and she wasn't sure how long she could stall the inevitable anymore). Her once effervescent eyes fluttered under her heavy eyelids. Her body seethed in enmity at the fear pooling low against the marred skin of her stomach. Against all odds, ignoring the need to run (_run, run, run away_ until she couldn't feel every step he took closer to her), she still raised her shaking hand and aimed for the doorknob connected to the frail door that separated her from him.

-_notafraidnotafraidnotafraid_-

She'd show him.

Show him she's not afraid of anything.

Her matted blonde hair made a curtain around her paled face as she rolled her eyes closed; not that having them open would have made any difference. Her bedroom was so dark that she could only allow feeling to guide her every move, feeling and instinct, and she was used to that. She was used to being consumed and swallowed by the darkness because she had been living that way for only God knows how long; days, weeks, years? It seemed like a fucking eternity and she had long since stopped counting the days of confinement.

The harsh silver stung her icy fingertips as she grazed them over the doorknob, and with every ounce of valour she had left inside of her body, she made her move and she gripped the knob and she tore it forward and she twisted it. She pulled the door open towards her, slow at first, as slowly as she possibly could, her legs convulsing under her because she wasn't sure _what_ to expect. She never knew what to expect anymore. Her life was a game of torment. Everything was to be questioned.

She sucked in a strong inhale of stale air as she summoned up her courage that had died along with her family long ago and she yanked the wooden door open with every feeling beneath her skin - all of her indignation, fear, anguish, despair - and she looked behind it.

Green eyes.

A sadistic smile.

Cold but beautiful.

Bubbles parted her lips and released the scream that she had been holding in for weeks.

**xoxo**

When she closed her eyes - fought for just one moment of peace, one moment in which he didn't invade her mind and didn't watch every move she made - she was his face, overcasting the darkness of her closed eyelids. His face, familiar and deadly and prepossessing and so so so _wrong_.

She remembered everything about, every sinful detail was permanently engraved in her subconscious and she would never be able to rid it. She could never possibly forget the coldness of his psychedelic eyes, the void green pools that anyone could get lost in and never find their way out. She could never forget the depraved, unholy curve of his naturally crooked lips, or the artistic lines and features of his face; handsome and broken because of _her_.

His face was always there.

It was haunting her like a fucking ghost.

A face that she had once adored to look at - because, _oh_, he was so devastatingly attractive - but now hated with every intermittent beat of her precious heart.

She hated him more than she ever thought she could hate anyone. But that only made his blood boil with more _determination_ - that only made his game last _longer and longer_ - that only made her see his face more and more because she knew that it was the last face she would ever see.

His face would haunt her even on her dying day.

**xoxo**

She could remember the last time that she had interacted with him before his game consumed what was once a thriving life; she could remember the feeling of his splayed, skeletal fingers closing in around her frail neck, crushing her trachea as it if were nothing because he could, because he was _strong_ and her mind had made her _weak_.

She hadn't always been weak. There was once a time where she had trusted her inner strength, in both body and mind, that if she tried hard enough, she could be invincible, she could _win_.

Sometimes she imagined a different circumstance, thought up an illusory world in which she was indestructible and he could do nothing that she couldn't fend off of. A world where she overpowered him and was her own hero; and she could choke him back, asphyxiate the life from his diabolical eyes, and _fight back_.

She had once promised herself that she would stop at _nothing_ to demolish him - because she had the power to destroy him - and she _would_ do it - she would be the one to end his reign if it was the _last thing she would ever do_ - she _could_ hurt him and she _would_ - but time, time and fear, had made her doubt everything, and it had left her in incarceration, seeking the warm security of the bedroom that she had grown up in, in the bed in which she had once had the most pleasant of dreams - and she would never, ever leave it, unless he dragged her out by her hands and knees.

Because she was more afraid of what stood outside her bedroom door than inside - because she had long stopped believing that monsters hid under her bed.

**xoxo**

She was fighting a losing battle with her insanity, with the voices inside of her head - _his_ voice - spewing words that were nothing short of _poison_ - and there was no way that she could ever win. She couldn't block them out. She couldn't run away from them. She couldn't do anything but listen and take pleasure in the fact that she was still able to endure.

_This is my game, Utonium._

His voice was as clear as day; toxic and sultry. She wasn't sure if she was imagining him or if he had the ability to do this torture, if he was able to speak inside of her mind and communicate with her. But she didn't care because the words were her only companions, her only source of normality in an otherwise broken world.

_You can't win._

_I'll have your heart - even if I have to rip it from your still breathing chest._

_I promise._

_No escape._

_You._

_Me._

_The game._

(His game was simple. She drove herself mad until she finally gave up what little hope was still buried in her bloodstream and surrendered her heart. And he would be waiting on the other side of the door until it was game-over for her. There was only one endgame. He was going to win. But he was going to drive her crazy first, because he was insane and alone and she deserved the same fate)

She tried to block his voice out time and time again. She begged her subconscious to make it stop (to _kick him out_) but she knew that if his voice was absent from her mind, all she would ever hear would be the fragile silence, the occasional harsh breath and beat of her pulse, and she knew that the voice was better than the silence.

And in that way, she needed him there.

**xoxo**

She feared that one day she would understand him, understand how he could do the things that he did, how he could torment and destroy anything and everything he touched with his icy fingers; how he could take lives and ruin souls without missing a single beat.

She _hates_ everything he thinks is _right_.

Just thinking about it made her blood run cold in her veins, made her teeth bare like a wild animal.

If she had the chance, she would destroy him because he _deserved_ it. She wants to see him writhe in agony at her feet. She wants to twist her fingers in his hair and hurl him far from her sight. She wants to feel his pained scream against the curl of her palm as she asphyxiates the life from his body.

But she would never get that chance; and there was a part inside of her - the human part that stood for better things than he did and would never even think of causing harm to anyone - that wouldn't do it because she was a better person and she could never, ever kill.

She would never let him drive her to kill anything; she would never understand how he could take a life so effortlessly because she knew that given the chance, she would crumble at the mere thought of such destruction.

There was nothing _human_ inside of him anymore - she understood that much.

**xoxo**

This was _not_ her fault.

She told herself every day, every night, that under no circumstances was this her fault.

Was it wrong to not want to share something as valuable as your heart with an ungodly psychopath? Was it wrong to crave death over the knowledge that someone with whom you hate with passion owned the most important part of you? Was it wrong to rather give into the demolition that was his game than to give up and give him what he had wanted since the moment that he laid his malevolent eyes on it?

No, no, no.

It _wasn't_ her fault that everyone she loved was_ gone_.

It _wasn't_ her fault that she couldn't leave the confinement of her bedroom.

It _wasn't_ her fault that a demonic boy with a missing soul had fallen in love with_ her_.

But she believed none of it. Deep down, she always believed that she was selfish for fighting for her heart before anything else. She knew that if she had just conceded and loved him back that her sisters would still be breathing.

It was her fault for not allowing a psychopath her heart; and now she was alone.

**xoxo**

He had always been a villain, had been since his first taste of breath, but he hadn't always been homicidal, he hadn't always been a savage, he hadn't always been consumed with a_ burning_ ache whenever she wasn't near him.

Years before the destruction, years before the game, he had just been a villain, known only to hurt and to hate, but then she came into his life, her face - pure and innocent and beautiful - flooded his corrupt vision, and she changed _everything_.

He loved her with every beat of his non-existant heart, and that, that _love_, made him _crazy_, and he couldn't stop - _he wouldn't stop_ - not until he had her heart in the same way that she had his, even if he had to tear it from her unmoving chest.

He promised her, promised her every single night, that he would get her heart, and he would not stop trying, not until his dying day.

And he kept that promise.

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**~ Very dark, I'm assuming. I've never written anything that dark before, but I wanted to try something new to get out of my writing rut so why not? Hope you liked it and hopefully didn't find it totally creepy and crazy because I certainly did. Thank you for reading! ~**

**Review please?**


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